Ode to the Wind Blow

It was the end of long days and short nights. No more sand between her toes or chlorine dips. The moonlight air was taking on a chilly bite, the fireflies didn’t want to light. The scents of cotton candy and popcorn drifted away with the country fair. Three months of unbridled pleasure; soon it was back to the institute of learning that it seemed she had just escaped. She stood in the middle of the deserted field. It stretched beyond her visual capacity. The stark white sundress dangled to her ankles, which were adorned with homemade bracelets. Bare feet felt the cool earth, the stiff grass. The Virginia climate soaked into her skin, and she took it in with a sigh and a forced breath. The contrast of blue and green clashed in her eyes. It was surreal.

The notes of music still ran through her ears as if she were still sitting by the piano, stroking the smooth exterior as he caressed the keys. The windows had been opened, wispy curtains fluttering in the breeze. Sheets of paper scattered across the bare floor, in a nearly empty room. It was just them and the ghosts of a former life. He wore a black button-up shirt, only closed to the middle of his stomach. It left his bare chest free to peek out, just a sliver of the marble pale skin. She longed to run her fingers over it just one last time.

During the muggy nights, they would pull out a picnic blanket and lounge on the golf course, abandoned under the stars. He brought a bottle of wine and watched as she tentatively sipped it. She wasn’t supposed to drink it but he promised to never say a word. He could make her laugh, in a genuine way. His words weren’t corny or hurtful. Admiration loomed in his rich brown eyes whenever he spoke of her. To my eyes, beauty is you and only you, he once sad. He never faltered his vow of truth and kindness. She knew she could believe him, even when she couldn’t believe herself.

He never pushed her to do anything. If she said stop, he would obey. If she wanted, they would just sit by the lake, telling tales of their separate adventures. He told her of France, she described the nation’s capital. He read books to her, she wrote poetry for him. He laughed about breaking his nose playing soccer, she cried about losing her parents. No one was perfect, and he understood that. When she wanted all of him, he let her drink it in under the moon’s protective watch. His kisses were tender, his hands soft.

He wanted to take her with him as much as she wished she could go. He asked her to visit him in Paris but she wasn’t sure she’d ever see him again. It was still a year until she became legal, able to do as she pleased. But would he forget her by then? He promised phone calls and love letters, he said he never could regret losing her to time. She’d always be on his mind.

He boarded the great white mechanical bird, soared even further away. So she stood alone, watching the sun set on goodbye. All she could do was wait. The summer was leaving, as did he.

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